


Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears a Crown

by flaming_muse



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: Laurent has a talk with Damen as he settles into kingship.Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy reposeTo the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;And in the calmest and most stillest night,With all appliances and means to boot,Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.- Henry IV, part II, act III, scene i





	Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears a Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I have got to thinking quite a bit about how Laurent would settle into kingship. He has a clever mind that is more than up for the job, but there's a difference between his experience fighting for survival and the reality of ruling. I think he'd find much to reflect on as time went on.
> 
> And thus a fic.
> 
> Set some time after Kings Rising

Laurent strode into the kings’ sitting room in Arles in the middle of the afternoon, his head held high.

Damen glanced up in surprise from the map of Patras he was studying, having assumed Laurent’s council meeting would have lasted at least until sunset, but he held back the pleased greeting on his lips as he took in the blankness of Laurent’s expression and steely determination in the set of his shoulders.

It was his court face, Damen knew, a mask of indifference hiding all that went on in that impressive mind. He knew, too, to wait and see if the mask dropped when they were alone. Often it did, but sometimes it did not, and like any good warrior Damen would not form a plan of attack on the walls Laurent so regularly erected around himself until he saw the lay of the land.

Laurent dismissed the attendants trailing in his wake with a wave of his hand and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher beside Damen’s map. He took a sip, placed the cup back on the table, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then and only then he seemed to turn from a statue of unyielding stone into a man of flesh and blood and emotion, his shoulders sagging a few inches and his mouth pressing into a scowl.

Ah, it would be like that, Damen thought. The walls would tumble on their own, as long as Damen didn’t push too hard on them. As much as he always enjoyed the challenge of getting Laurent to relax, he also cherished the fact that Laurent chose open up to him on his own.

“And how did your meeting with the new members of your royal council go?” he asked, sitting back in his chair.

Laurent removed the thin circlet of rank from his pale hair and set it on the table. His fingers lingered on it for a moment. “I plan to host them all at a formal dinner at the first possible opportunity.”

“To celebrate your ascension and productive working relationship?”

“To poison them all in one fell swoop and start afresh with people who fear the consequences of my displeasure,” was Laurent’s cool reply.

Damen let out a chuckle at the thought. He could understand well the temptation, but he wasn’t particularly concerned about Laurent following through. At least not without warning him. “What happened?”

“More of the same,” Laurent said. He pulled his signet ring from his hand and placed it neatly inside the circle of his crown. “Arguing, positioning, cutting remarks in silky tones. They seek power, and they look for weaknesses to exploit.”

“They _are_ Veretians.”

Laurent’s eyes cut to him, narrowed and sharp. “Yes.”

“As are you,” Damen reminded him. “I’d wager all my coin on you.”

Laurent didn’t reply, simply began to unfasten the tie at the wrist of one of his tight sleeves as he walked toward the adjoining bath chamber. He left the door open, and Damen left his map behind and rose to his feet to follow, sure of his welcome.

Laurent stood with his back to the door, his hands swift at work on his laces. “Attend me,” he said, without turning around, at the sound of Damen’s bare feet on the warm tile floor.

Damen smiled and did, expertly setting him free from the carapace that was his formal court jacket and exposing the fine linen shirt and warm skin underneath. As the layers disappeared - boots and pants next, then finally the long shirt that enticingly concealed the full beauty of his body from Damen’s eyes - more of the icy stiffness in Laurent’s body began to melt. His shoulders dropped further, his mouth turned from a tight line into a casual frown, and his eyes went from being narrow and focused to dipping shut entirely as he sank into the hot water of their large, private sunken bath.

Laurent sighed, the frustration of a man instead of the displeasure of a king, and leaned his head back on the tiled edge behind him.

Damen was tempted to join him and enjoy all of that lovely skin now flushing in the heat, but instead he sat on a bench and waited for Laurent to speak his mind. He knew well enough that this was not a time to push, as much as he wanted to.

Pushing Laurent - in all sorts of mutually enjoyable ways - was one of his favorite things to do, after all. Often it was one of Laurent’s, as well. But not now.

If he wanted to hear Laurent’s inner thoughts, he had to give him room to unfurl himself from his tightest knot of strategy and calculation and remember Damen was at his side.

It took a few minutes, in which the only sounds in the room were the rippling of the water from Laurent’s tiny movements and the rush of Damen’s breath, loud in his ears, as he grew less and less sure of his decision not to take advantage of Laurent’s nudity right there in front of him to bring them both some pleasure on a busy day.

Finally, though, Laurent broke the silence, and Damen knew he had been right to wait. Even if the curve of Laurent’s shoulder above the surface of the water absolutely begged to be tasted.

“Auguste should have been king,” Laurent said quietly. His eyes were still closed, his head tipped back, and the set of his mouth remained troubled.

“You are a good king, Laurent,” Damen told him, the truth springing immediately to his lips in surprise at the topic.

“I am an _excellent_ king,” Laurent corrected him. The confidence in his voice gave way to contemplation again. “But he would have been better. He was made for it.”

“You can’t - “

Damen broke off when Laurent turned his head and regarded him with steady, unguarded eyes, the access to his inner self an honor Damen felt down to the marrow of his bones, like a lightness coiling through him. He was compelled by that quiet gaze to listen instead of comfort.

“He had this way about him, this ease,” Laurent continued. “He understood men, not as servants or as pawns in a game but as people. He connected with them. With everyone. He liked them, and they liked him. You also are that way.” There was no judgment in the words, no jealousy, just a statement of fact.

“You tell me all the time how little I understand,” Damen said, though he felt himself glowing a bit at the praise. He knew Laurent loved him, after all, but his respect was a gift far harder to earn.

Laurent’s eyes crinkled in a smile that didn’t curve his mouth, and he turned on his stomach in the deep bath to cross his arms on the edge and face Damen head-on. “They _listen_ to you,” he said, not quite in wonder.

“They quarrel with me all the time. I believe you’ve met Nikandros?”

The set of Laurent’s mouth grew waspish. “Are you arguing with me because you like the fire it raises in my cheeks or simply because you are in an antagonistic mood, Damianos?”

“I do like the fire in your cheeks,” Damen agreed, grinning at him, but he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and tried to be more serious. It was difficult with Laurent so beautiful and bare, but he made the effort; he would not squander this opportunity to hear Laurent’s thoughts. Damen waved for him to continue. “Tell me what bothers you.”

Laurent looked down at the tile for a moment. “I am not as good a king as I could be. As Auguste would have been. As you are, in some ways.”

“You just told me you’re an excellent king.”

“I am,” Laurent replied. He paused, as though he were turning the words over in his mind before speaking them. “Still, I find there is room for improvement in my abilities, and I have no obvious remedy for the deficit.”

Damen considered how that honest statement of self-criticism fit into what he already knew of the man before him. “You can’t practice kingship the way you can train yourself in swordplay or self-control,” he said, nodding in understanding.

Laurent made a disgruntled noise of assent and traced some unknown pattern with the tip of his finger on the tile in front of him.

“In time - “ Damen began, thinking back to lessons his father had once taught him about being king.

“Time?” Laurent scoffed. “In time shall I become affable and easy-going, a hero among men, larger than life, more god than king? No. I am who I am.”

“And as you are, your council respects you and follows you.”

“Not out of admiration and love, not the same way. People want to _please_ you, to catch your eye, to serve at your side, just as they did Auguste,” Laurent said in frustration, and there it was, the extra thorn, the comparison not just with his beloved brother but with his love and co-ruler as well.

“That is how I feel about you, Laurent,” Damen said softly, knowing his words had to be chosen with care. “I wish to please you, with all my heart.”

“Shall I have you come crawl before the council, then, and kiss my boot to show them how I should be treated?” Laurent asked, his tone as sharp as a knife.

Damen shrugged. “If you like.”

Laurent’s eyes darkened on him - contemplative, interested - but then he shook his head. “No.”

“Not in front of them, anyway,” Damen promised. They both knew kissing his boot was the least he would do to show his love if Laurent asked for it.

A ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of Laurent’s mouth, and he lowered his chin onto his folded hands.

“Veretians argue,” Damen said. “You talk. You negotiate. You wheedle and conspire. It’s what you do.”

“I know.”

“It is not a sign of disrespect. They love you, Laurent.”

Laurent sighed, this time wistfully. “I know that as well. But not as they would have my brother,” he told Damen, at last more vulnerable than frustrated.

Damen thought of the shining prince he had met on the battlefield, the worthy adversary he had bested, the heroic older brother of this man who had loved him so much. “Perhaps,” he said. “But they do love you. And you must be aware they would have argued with him, too.”

“And he would have done his best to please them all. He might well have succeeded.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they would have taken advantage of his giving nature,” Damen said. “You would have had to outmaneuver them on his behalf and convince them of what was right.”

“Would I have?” Laurent asked. “If you had not killed him, I might not have come up from my books to notice his court’s machinations at all.”

Damen shook his head. It was impossible for him to believe that Laurent would not have been a steadfast support throughout his brother’s reign. Perhaps the steel of his mind would have been honed to a different edge, but the Veretian court still would have required a blade to keep it in line. Laurent would have risen to the challenge for his brother’s sake. He would have excelled in it. “You are who you are, Laurent.”

“Yes,” Laurent said tiredly, vulnerable and honest in a way even Damen did not often get to see.

“You were born for this. You were born for plots and plans and subtle derision.” Damen grinned when the words startled a laugh from Laurent. “You love it.”

Laurent tipped his head to the side in agreement, a smile still on his lips. “Perhaps I have spent too long with Akielons. I am out of practice. They require such a different touch.”

“Have you grown too used to getting them all drunk and becoming fast friends instead of having to lure them into clever traps with your words?” Warm in the steamy air of the baths, Damen unwound the top of his chiton and let it pool around his waist on the bench. The gesture was - mostly - not meant as a lure of his own.

“No, I have grown used to you doing it,” Laurent said. He tapped his fingertips on the tile in front of him, his eyes on Damen.

“You speak as though you have not matched Makedon cup for cup,” Damen said.

“I have,” Laurent replied, looking rather pleased with himself at the memory. “Still, most days I prefer not to incur the headache that follows. You do not seem to mind so much.”

“Then I shall be the one who brings long, griva-soaked dinners into fashion here in Vere.”

Laurent’s brows drew together, and his mouth opened like he was going to argue.

“Both kingdoms are ours, Laurent,” Damen reminded him before he could speak. “Vere is not solely your problem to solve. I am here, too. That’s what we chose.”

“When we chose each other.” Laurent looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment, his blue eyes bright and deep and steady and clear, and then he smiled once more. “Very well. When necessary, I shall plot my way around your kyroi until they’ll agree to give up their own mothers and think it’s their idea, and you can indulge yourself with the members of the Veretian council until they’re too drunk to remember to lie and scheme. And thus we shall both get what we want.”

Damen wanted, somehow, to express his gratitude for Laurent’s partnership, for his vulnerability in front of him, for his steadfast willingness to work hard in service for Akielons and Veretians alike, but he knew complimenting Laurent could be akin to stroking the soft belly of a contented porcupine: pointing out that most precious of spots might immediately compel it to be defended by the sharpest spines once more.

So he remained silent about it and just felt the honor in the core of his chest, like an ache to cry and laugh, to celebrate and protect, all at once.

Damen smiled back instead, the warmth in his heart swelling as it always did when they reaffirmed their relationship. “And in private we shall together soothe both your throat, dry from talk, and my head, sore from drink.”

Laurent was quiet for the span of a dozen breaths, just watching Damen like he was a prize to be treasured, and then turned over in the wide, deep pool again, the tips of his golden hair darkening as they dipped into the water. “I find I am indeed very tired of talking,” he said over his shoulder.

Damen’s eyebrows raised, surprised at the sudden dismissal. “You wish me to go?”

“No.” Laurent’s eyes gleamed in the profile he showed Damen. “But I can think of better things to do with my mouth than talk just now.” He raised a languid hand from the water in invitation, drops falling from the tips of his fingers. “We have time before we are needed again. Attend me, my king.”

Ah, not a dismissal after all. The opposite, in fact.

“Your slave,” Damen corrected and rose from his bench, the chiton falling away, leaving him bare and ready to answer Laurent’s call. He stepped into the bath and into his lover’s embrace.

“That, too,” Laurent said warmly, and before Damen could even find his equilibrium in the water, Laurent’s arms were around Damen’s neck and his mouth was hot and eager on his.

Damen caught him around his slim waist and drew him onto his lap without hesitation. He knew that Laurent’s breathy noise of pleasure at the touch of their bodies was both honest and a deliberate distraction for them both from the weightiness of their conversation. He knew making love with him was a simple way for Laurent to express his feelings, to show him how much he cherished and trusted Damen and all he gave him. He knew Laurent needed to have a moment with hands and lips and skin and heat and the relief of straining bodies too driven to be able to think, instead of with words that cut too close to his heart.

But Damen also knew - most importantly of all - that their conversation would continue. It would never stop, day by day, as they built this kingdom and this life they shared. That, even more than the open desire rising in Laurent’s body with each kiss, was the greatest gift he ever gave Damen: access to his truest and most vulnerable self.

“You _are_ mine,” Laurent panted against Damen’s mouth as he let Damen position him just where he wanted him. It wasn’t phrased as a question, but there was something in the tone of his voice - fierce and celebratory and yet with the wonder of youth - that made Damen think it actually was.

“I am,” Damen promised him, rutting up against the clasp of Laurent’s ass. He moved to grip the muscle there, pleasantly firm against his palms.

“Then stop stroking your enormous ego at having shaken me out of my melancholy and stroke _me_ instead.” There was a tremor in Laurent’s voice from the strength of his need that to Damen transformed the sharp bite in his words into a lover’s caress.

With a laugh, Damen did as he was told, and he closed his eyes in pleasure as Laurent’s arms tightened around his shoulders and held him so tightly it felt like he never planned to let go of him again.


End file.
